


Icabeth and Katrina

by BeforeBabydoll



Category: Sleepy Hollow (1999)
Genre: F/F, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, Genderswap, Sleepy Hollow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-06 14:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14058510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeforeBabydoll/pseuds/BeforeBabydoll
Summary: What if it had been Icabeth, instead of Icabod?





	1. Chapter 1

Ichabeth Crane jolted awake, the carriage had gone over a hole in the road. She was glad of it, her dreams were restless and strange and her forehead was covered in a sheen of cool sweat. She pulled the handkerchief from the top breast pocket of her black coat and dabbed her face. Outside the carriage the evening was grey and misty, perhaps an hour must have passed since she had fallen asleep, and the trees were thick around the carriage. She was nearly at her destination.  
Feeling restless she picked her leather satchel up from the seat beside her and opened it. It and the one other case she had with her contained all the books and tools she would need for her investigation. Letting one of her ledgers fall open in her hand she saw by the light of the carriage lamp, the little drawing she had made of her route and her destination; Sleepy Hollow.  
It was a formidable charge to undertake, and Icabeth was not a daring character by nature. But it had become a matter of principle for her. She had been a constable in New York, a specialist in pathology and forensics, specialisms that went terribly underused in her post. But Sleepy Hollow would be a chance to put her skills to use...She hoped. To her knowledge three persons had been found decapitated there within the last two weeks, and as yet, not even one suspect had been identified.  
A wolf howled outside the carriage and Icabeth’s eyes widened. Another half hour passed and the carriage driver halted outside the little settlement, near a walled track the posts on either side decorated with stone stags head. Icabeth paused a moment after she climbed down from the carriage. She was a tall, slim figure. She was pale to the point of appearing ill at times, and her thick black hair though cropped quite short had the tendency to fall in her eyes. Presently she drew herself up, took tight hold of her luggage and proceeded down the track towards town, which wound between a cemetery and a field full of grazing sheep.  
In the early evening the town was quiet, almost silent. And as Icabeth passed people pulled their shutters in for the night. It took until nightfall for Icabeth to reach the front doors of the Van Tassel house, a much grander dwelling than most in town. Raising a hand to tap the knocker she was presently shown within. Inside, her presence hardly seemed to be noted. The house was filled with people and music and the hubbub and chatter of a party. She seemed quite a solemn figure among them all, but made her way between the people, jostling and begging pardon and searching for Baltus Van Tassel. In the parlour a circle of people are gathered about a blindfolded woman in an ivory dress, her wavy blonde hair cascading down her back. A sort of parlour game was taking place. “The pickety witch! The picket witch! Who’s got a kiss for the picket witch!” She called to the revellers, and before Icabeth could even register what was happening she had lunged forward and grasped her face in soft hands. The young constable froze. A smile flickered on the visible part of the young woman’s face. It was a beautiful smile. Icabeth couldn’t move. “Is it Theodore?” She enquired. Icabeth swallowed. “No, ma’am, I am only a stranger.” The smile was there again. “Then have a kiss on account.” She pressed her soft lips to Icabeth’s cool cheek and the young constable did not know what to do. Behind the young woman a stout looking man with brown hair glowered. The blonde woman pulled the blindfold away to reveal her full visage. She was utterly beautiful, and even she seemed struck by Icabeth, because for a moment neither of them could say anything.


	2. Chapter 2

Icabeth recovered herself a little. “Pardon me, I am looking for Baltus Van Tassel.” The blonde woman smiled sweetly. “I am his daughter, Katrina Van Tassel.”  
“And who are you friend? We have not heard your name yet?” The tall man with the brown hair interjected, fixing Icabeth with a look of pointed suspicion. Though she was not naturally confident, being a detective in New York had taught the young woman a thing or two about people, and she could see almost instantly the insecurity her interrogator exuded.

“I have not said it.” She remarked sharply but politely and went to excuse herself. The young man stepped forcefully in front of her and Katrina seemed horrified. “Bron!” She uttered to him, her brow furrowing. An admonishing voice came from the doorway across the room, but it was pleasant and affable. “Come come! We want no raised voices, it is only to raise spirits that I, and my dear wife are giving this little party...” The man who strode in could be none other than Baltus, Icabeth assessed quickly, and the woman who followed a pace or two behind him with an impeccably kept sort of appearance was no doubt his wife.

“Young Miss you are most welcome, even if you are selling something.” Presently, the atmosphere that had built up around the newcomer relaxed, and most of the revellers lost interest in her. “Thank you sir. I am constable Icabeth Crane, sent to you from New York to investigate Murder in Sleepy Hollow.” The young constable handed over the letter from her superior which Baltus ran his eye over.

This drew a few uneasy looks, but the woman behind Baltus cut through this with ease. “Then sleepy Hollow is grateful to you, Constable, and we hope you will do us the honor of remaining in this house.”

“Well said, my dear. Come now Miss we’ll get you settled, play on!” Baltus agreed firmly, and called to the fiddle player. He was a very warm kind of man, Icabeth thought to herself, and clearly a pillar of life here in the little town. She followed a servant girl upstairs, and caught herself almost in the act of throwing a glance back at the young Katrina Van Tassel.

Upstairs in the snug little room, Icabeth went about unpacking her cases. She put the clothes she had brought into the chest and set out her ledgers on the little desk by the window. Outside a soft rain was beginning to patter against the glass. “Please tell Mr Van Tassel I will be down presently.” She asked politely of the servant girl who smiled at her. “Of course ma’am.” She went to leave but then turned back to look at the young constable. “Thank God you’re here.” She uttered emphatically, then turned away and shut the door behind her. Icabeth stared after her, her brow knitted together in confusion. She sighed, straightened herself up, and went back down the little flight of stairs, nearly tripping on the small bottom step.

When she got there, the parlour was full of people, some she had spotted at the party. Baltus excused his wife who left, giving the constable a polite nod and closing the door, shutting off almost all the noise from the party.

“Constable, please come in.” Baltus waved to Icabeth to join them and gestured around the room at the men seated about. “We are joined by Dr. Thomas Lancaster, Reverend Steenwyck, our magistrate Samuel Philipse and this is our notary, James Hardenbrook.” Icabeth let her eyes alight on all of them as they sat crouched in their seats or sipped from their tea cups. They all, with the exception of Baltus seemed ill at ease. Icabeth remained standing, her hands folded neatly behind her back. “And you are, Sir?” She asked Baltus. “Just a farmer who has prospered, the town looks to me as friend and counsel.” The magistrate set his teacup down. “And landlord, and banker, can we proceed?” Icabeth took the initiative. “So, there have been three persons murdered. First Peter Van Garret, and his son...” She strode into the middle of the room, and against the roaring fire managed to seem quite domineering. “One week later, the Widow Winship, all of them found, decapitated. I will need to ask many questions of all of you, but firstly, is anyone suspected?” A deathly silence fell between the men in the room, even Baltus’ insuppressibly affable exterior seemed to flicker. “How much have your superiors explained to you Constable?” He asked. Icabeth considered this. “Only that the three were slain in open ground, their heads found severed from their bodies.” She said finally. “Their heads were not found.” The magistrate interjected, Icabeth looked to him. “The heads are, gone?”

“Taken, taken by the Headless Horseman, taken back to Hell.” The notary intoned darkly. Icabeth looked between the men, confusion shaping her features. Baltus took a breath. “I think, you had better sit down Miss Crane.”


End file.
